Sweet Insanity
by Pandiichan
Summary: How does one really know when the boundary between reality and dreams has been crossed? FINISHED!
1. Prologue

Sweet Insanity

**Prologue**

"It was Rohypnol, as I'm sure they told you." Dr. Schwartz reviewed the prescription pad that had been used as a note while his patient seated herself on the lounging plum-beige chair. She was a small thing, pale as snow, more than likely sick from what she had heard. He would be, too. Her dark auburn-mahogany hair curtained her long, narrow face that collapsed into a smoothly blunt point of a chin. This girl was also his twelve o' clock appointment. "But aside from those nasty details, let's move on to brighter business." his golden chin stubble caged her mauve eyes and dragged her into paying attention; she still looked slow and sluggish, confused and drugged as they'd found her shivering in a beach towel on her friend's front porch.

At least, subconsciously, she'd known to come there and be safe. The male hadn't done anything to her, physically, except for a few smacks, a bruise, and yet she was terrified beyond imagination. What he'd tried to do had failed. . .the only thing he had succeeded in was leaving her on edge and getting an all-expenses-paid psychiatric visit. Dr. Schwartz must break her out of the isolated and cowering shell; it was his job to restore her mental health.

"Now your mother tells me you've been watching a cartoon show particularly in excess. . .what is it?" his voice was soft, like a croon. The mauve orbs hardened and a fire began to burn in them, red rimmed eyes making her look feral and agitated.

"TMNT." her response was all but defined, but Dr. Schwartz had heard the tiny acronym. He quirked a goldenrod eyebrow at her.

"Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles?" he pressed, verifying the act; eyes skirting the medical profile for the girl, Samantha Kaskumo; nothing that screamed devoted TMNT fan. His son still watched the four colorful, ninja-esque turtle show, so he knew it fairly well. "And what do you feel when you watch it?" Dr. Schwartz asked, trying to delve into her personality and pull out the reason she immersed herself in such a childish show. A sixteen-year-old should be over and done with the four green terrapins.

"Angry." she seemed like a child in the tiny chair. Dangerously aggressive eyes, hard locked jaw, closed fists the side of perhaps a half of a tennis ball.

"Why are you angry?" both of them had soft voices, similar to wind rattling through willows. It seemed as if spirits were talking here, not people. Quieter than a pin drop, except for the tiny whisper of voices.

"Because I have to keep coming back here." that was expected. Dr. Schwartz sighed, leaning back in his chair and crossing caramel-wearing legs at the ankle, he scrutinized her. It was odd to have a female who overdosed herself with a childish TV show instead of food or friends. Not in the norm.

"I think," the psychiatrist, part-time psychologist, with the soft smile and blindingly white teeth began. "That you're watching this show because it makes you feel young again, like nothing bad can happen to you like it almost did a week ago. . ." although he left the statement adrift his voice had raised in question at the end. Samantha glowered at the man in the shiny black leather swivel chair. What did he need her for? He was the one with the degree.

She wrinkled her nose, thinking angrily, _what am I? Your specimen? _"Here, I'm going to write you a prescription." the session was ending, and she would be expected to return this following Thursday for more soft words, gentle goading, and perhaps an extended plan of visit. She was still having her "tender recuperating stage", as Dr. Schwartz named it. Samantha snatched the tiny piece of off-white paper and squinted at his chicken scratch through her contacts as she stalked out of the sterilized white building, gagging at the smell of hospital-ness inside of it. Even though this place was just a mental hospital, a recuperating site, she still smelled the narcotics, antibiotics, icky flavored wood of the tongue depressors, and much more.

The entailed chicken scratch of Dr. Schwartz called for anxiety pills. _Great, _Sam thought, _just what I need. _Pills before bed probably weren't going to help her sleep any easier. . .

Nonetheless, she drove to the nearest CVS next to the mental rehabilitation cage and received the tiny iridescent orange bottle. The white tablets inside laughed at her. Jeered. Told her how weak she was. It was sad.

**Kaskumo, Samantha.**

**Xanax XR Oral **

**(ALPRAZOLAM EXTENDED-RELEASE)**

**For: Anxiety**

**Take once a day. Do not crush or chew, swallow whole. Eat food afterwards to help the digestion.**

**250 mg/30 tablets**

When she got home Sam put locks of her dark hair away from her face and pinned them up in a ponytail. She wanted to watch herself take the medicine in the large, cool bathroom mirror. This way she knew she wasn't hallucinating, and sadly, it wouldn't be a nightmare. _It could be, _she thought, _could be. . ._ popping it in her mouth she guzzled water until it passed, bringing her head back up from it's lax backward position. Thirty minutes later she found herself blinking wearily, perhaps she should have checked for side effects. The sixteen-year-old crashed in her bed, surrounded by the warm blanket of Febreeze and Snuggles laundry detergent.

* * *

"...I've been waiting on you guys!" _what? _Sam's heart thundered with fear as the cold settled in on her body. Her eyes were closed and she couldn't move, her whole body felt like lead and suddenly she was reliving the whole experience with Nate. She was helpless, cold, wet, shivering, waiting on someone or something to cross her vision and help make sense of the tilt-a-whirl world she stupidly gazed in to. _Somebody help me. . .he's coming after me. I can't move!_

_Cindy, where are you Cindy? Why aren't you home? I need help. Open the door, Cindy! Her grip on her cellphone was waning as the Rohypnol continued to corrupt her system. _

_It felt like horrible, vile Novocain. 9-1 was pressed on the darkening pad, the phone fully extended revealing the rest of the orange buttons with the white numbers. Her thumb wasn't moving to press the last digit. She couldn't, it was impossible. Samantha was lucky enough to make it into Glenhaven before the drug started to kick in. The phone sidled from her fingers, crashing to the creaky wooden porch. _

_It had landed on speaker, she heard it dialing. Somewhere in the bouncing and sliding, the tumbling, it must've hit the right number. . . _

". . .found her like this." there were fingers at her neck, icy ones, like death, and she found by some stroke of God's good grace her eyes were opening. The green finger in her field of vision was helping that. A purple mask and a second, identical green finger bobbed back and forth between her lilac eyes.

"She's okay." Sam heard the guy say, he sure did look funny. Was she hallucinating? No. . .the guy kinda looked like Donatello, from the TV show. Did she leave it on? _Nu-uh, _she thought recalling a little from the hazy depths of her memory, _TV wasn't even on when I went to sleep. If I really am asleep. _

The arctic concrete of what she guessed to be a roof felt rough and real, sapping whatever body warmth she had greedily from her, and those icy fingers that kept her awake felt real, too. "Her breathing's normal, but her body temperature is really low. It's a good thing you found her Mikey. She may not be alive if you hadn't sooner done so." a weight counterbalanced and surpassed her own in an instant. Sam was being lifted from the ground, her only view of the sky expanding as she was brought upward.

"Why isn't she moving?" Mikey asked curiously, he looked over her and Sam could see the unmistakably neon orange headband characteristic of the youngest turtle.

"I don't know, but we'll find out soon."

"Donnie you're carryin' her. I got in trouble for bringin' April home that one day, that's enough for me. . ." _Raph? Geez the only one missing is Leo and then I'll have to say this is a dream. They aren't real. They're animations, cartoons. So why am I here? _her normally concealing veil of hair was pointing towards the ground, limp in straightened glory as she was taken delicately, for her rag-doll state, and placed safely underground. Away from Nate, away from Dr. Schwartz. Away from it all.

**  
REVIEW PLEASE! I'D LIKE FEEDBACK. IT ENCOURAGES ME AND LETS ME KNOW MY EFFORTS AREN'T WASTED!!!!! AT LEAST 2-5 VOTES FOR THE NEXT CHAPTER PLEASE!!!!!**


	2. Is it Possible?

**To **_FantasyFan17 : _**Thank you for your review, it's very well appreciated. The belated intro of the guys has a purpose. Plus it's supposed to symbolize the difference between the real world and **_blankity-blank-blank _**that's happening to her.**

**1-2 votes for continuance. More feedback would be nice.**

**Is it Possible?**

Michelangelo kept watch over Samantha, a curious creature to him, as Donatello ran toxin results, Raphael pummeled a punching bag, and Leo consorted with Splinter on the entirety of the situation. "Donnie, why doesn't she move?" the genius brother made a thirty degree turn to his left and peered at his brother, lounging back in the chair.

"She has an unusually high level of Rohypnol in her system. God only knows how she got to the rooftop." he shook his head and turned back to the computer, attending to swirling data displaying her last blood sample condition. "It should wear off in about a day or two, a couple of hours if we're lucky." Splinter finally emerged with Leo, steps a metronome to his cane. In his furry brown palms were a couple of semi-sodden looking herbs. When he finally reached the couch the Sensei jabbed the herbs into a small mixing cup about the size of his center of his palm and Leo began to grind them; making a speckled green paste with the purified water from the sink.

Then he said, explaining the peculiar event, "This is an ancient Japanese herbal treatment for the ill. I have seen Teng Shin make the same past once upon blue moons for my Master Yoshi."

"What did it do?" Mikey asked curiously, making a most horrible face at the concoction held by his father. Splinter chuckled at his face and continued closer to the girl paralyzed on the couch, marble white, blanched, for the oddity of the drug on her system. He gently dabbed a finger into the green herb mass and wiped a tiny horizontal line under her nose. Mikey gagged, and Splinter wiped the tiny bit of residue from his finger, watching the girl's jaw relax and her face heat with a slightly warmer color. An identical three stripes lined the would-be creases of her forehead, could she make an expression.

"This was a paste believed to relax the mind and clear spirits out of the body. In this city, and this age, of course there are no spirits. But this may help. . ."

"Herbs do have medicinal qualities about them, anyways." Donatello shrugged. All they could do was wait, hope. There really wasn't much else they could do without disturbing her. Who knows what she could process, or if she was in any prior pain? Hours passed by, the silence of the lair making the occasional glance at Sam feel sickening.

It had been quite the while, and the girl had yet to even flex. Still as a statue. Coming upon the cusp of midnight she finally moved, not strong enough to sit up, disoriented enough to make pre-vomit sounds, and yet only able to blink and move a couple of fingers all at once. "Hi there!" Mikey chirped, talking slow like he was talking to a child. "My name's Michelangelo, how do you feel?" well . . . they always described him as energetic and outgoing.

"You're not real." Samantha couldn't lift her fingers to point at the obvious illusion she thought of Michelangelo and her eyes showed the fevered confusion, she only hissed. "I need to wake up."

"Why do you think you're asleep?" Donatello now joined the slow-process discovery of their mystery girl. She looked to him, the slight color that had called home in her seemed to disappear with the effort of doing so. Samantha blinked a few times.

"I took my Xanax. I'm asleep. It made me sleepy." her whole body ached, still feeling like lead. She sighed and wished the burning of effort would go away, she wished for mobility. Donatello sat carefully on the arm of the couch, watching Mikey lean over the back of it to watch the girl talk. Every now and then, when Mikey leaned a little too far, he'd make a slight hand motion as if to reel him back to the original slouch and bend over the dilapidated couch. They couldn't take any chances of scaring her . . . that may jeopardize any chance of being just a funny, fuzzy dream.

"Why'd you take Xanax?" Sammy could hear Donnie asking her questions and wanted to squeal in a most horribly spurned rage. Why did people want to ask her questions? They _knew_ what happened! All of their do-nothing selves were at the first court date, the one that didn't get any recess and the one that would go into "further discussion after a temporary suspension" when she got her so-called "sanity" back. A scoffing noise climbed up her throat and Donatello pitched the question, maybe she wasn't ready.

Early on into the next day, around five that morning, Sam could feel herself move. Heavy as cinder blocks, or as if she had ALS, first one leg thumped harshly to the sewer stone floor, then the other. Standing upright for the first time in a while felt numbing, walking on a constant ground of pins and needles, she felt dizzy. Peering into the kitchen she could see Donatello, red-eyed, nursing a steaming cup of coffee. "Oh, so you're up, huh?" obviously he saw her at the first timid/curious glance around the bend.

"How do you feel?"

"Good I guess, although I should be waking up now. I must've been asleep for ages." the turtle shook his head.

"You've been asleep, and you just woke up." he touched a hand to her forehead; the paste of Splinter's had been washed off after she'd showed signs of mobility within that first hour of twitching. "And you're not feverish anymore. I'm starting to think you've got something else in your system." Donatello was complacent with just lounging and suckling coffee, fixing this and that. Sammy quirked her dark, waxed-defined eyebrow.

"You're gonna crash," she predicted, pointing an accusing finger at him. Donnie shook his head 'no'.

"Took a catnap between midnight and four. I'll be good for a little bit."

* * *

She twitched, her mother smiling lightly as she laid a thicker blanket over her child. Mariah Kaskumo gently smoothed her daughter's brow and patted her back. "We just scraped our knees. . .little boo-boo," her mother was a nurse, and the little "boo boo" was referring to would be the "almost" situation with Nate. It was okay, now, though, he had a restraining order. Samantha started to twitch and Mariah placed a kiss on her barely-sweating brow. Mariah turned off the bathroom light Samantha had left on before depositing another kiss on her child's being and softly shutting the door.

Mariah went to cooking dinner while her daughter slept, mildly worried. There were even things humans had no power over. . .

* * *

After talking to the turtles for a while Sammy had begun to feel secure. It was the serene feeling of the pre-Nate life. Two hours later everyone else was starting to show signs of life. Currently they were low on pizza and Mikey was itching to do something non-sewer related; it was odd, but maybe he was having a rare "need to clear my head" moment. So, it was only natural he decided to take Raphael and the new girl with him, it made sense in his not-always-concentrating brain to give the human fresh air.

Topside the three were retrieving a fresh pizza from Ricco's when Sammy froze, soon and mechanically throwing tendrils of dark hair in her face. She crunched over and looked like she was staring at the crack running down the duration of two cement blocks. A broad-shouldered, Italian-tan man standing at about six-foot two with shaggy maroon hair butchered in layers sauntered by. His molten gold eyes caught Samantha's down-depressed stature. Then, as quick as a ghost, like a strobe light flash, he was gone.

A shiver raked through Samantha. Was it possible? Did he follow her here?


	3. To Whom it May Concern

**To **_FantasyFan17 _**thank you for another kind review, it really helps. Yes, it's much like a dream. . .I'm not quite sure how long I'll end up making it but yes, very dream-like. I already have at least two different endings in planning. I'm glad you're so interested with this story. Also thanks to **_Sciencegal _**for adding this to her "Favorite Stories"/ "Watch List".**

**3 votes for continuance**

* * *

**To Whom it May Concern**

His restraining order was an official two hundred feet from her, but Nate Vanderbuke was already thinking of the technical loopholes that court order held within itself. He gently twined the binoculars around his neck and shrugged on a black windbreaker to match his skin-tight black denim jeans and bold, splotchy Red Jumpsuit Apparatus concert tee from a few years back. With two hundred feet in between them Nate could still use the binoculars, stand in the north western part of his front yard, and still see the Kaskumo's front door. No one exiting yet . . . it was still early, seven in the morning, but Mrs. Kaskumo's car still hadn't left the house, and Sammy's car was still neatly and precisely set across from her mother's. Mariah Kaskumo took off in the sleek black Jaguar at exactly eight sixteen that morning, and Cameron, an eighty-six year old mail man for the Oak Drive subdivision was checking the Vanderbuke mailbox.

In exactly forty-five minutes Cameron would put the mail in the Kaskumo mailbox and he'd have a view. Sammy was a gorgeous girl to him, and when she'd slapped him, accused him of drugging her, his world had shattered. Not that he denied it, he really did it, but in his mind she looked even prettier so helpless. . .but he'd underestimated her. She was stronger than she looked, a little luckier. Now he just took up a stalker's delight, it really was fascinating.

Nate had plotted vantage points, still two hundred feet of space separating them, but he could see her bedroom window, from another the east side of the house, and finally the backyard of the Kaskumo home. Cameron, a man who didn't really read the newspaper, was going to the Meckler house when Nate had reached his front yard again. "Hey Mr. Cameron." Nate chirped innocently, Cameron didn't know why he'd been in court, or what kind of psycho lingered behind the maroon hair and twinkling eyes, "You look kind of. . .sick." it was so easy to trick him.

"I'm just a little spooked is all," the old man consoled, patting the teen on his shoulder. "Young Samantha got a letter from someone and it just has a bad feel about it, I felt myself chill when I gave it to her. Something evil's at work here, boy. You might want to go tell her she'll be okay. . .something nice. . .like flowers. You youngsters still give out flowers?" he just laughed and patted Nate again on his shoulder, moving on to finish his route.

"How interesting. . ." the comment was a dying whisper and the anticipation left Nathan jogging in to his room and dashing for his laptop. The court had a list of his IM accounts to restrict from talking to Samantha on but he'd made decoys that they couldn't find. It was all so beautiful. Samantha believed him to be Scott Norman from Fairplay, Kentucky and it was too hilarious, he signed on eagerly, waiting to talk about any 'odd' mail. **AManOfFairplay has signed on.**

**AManOfFairplay: **Hey there, what's up?

**TheSupposed** : Nothing much. . .just. . .reading.

Nate smiled. _Reading? Did you get my mail? Does it make you want to cower, or cry, even scream? _Sammy truly was a dame, prone for distress situations.

**AManOfFairplay has logged off.**

That's what made her beautiful, even if he created those situations for her. She was his puppet, he pulled the strings. Nate remembered in horrifically beautiful newspaper-cut print and angel-askew letter he'd constructed. HI THERE SAM, HOW'S LIFE? I MISS YOU.

DO YOU WANT TO KNOW WHAT IT FEELS LIKE TO BE IMMORTALIZED? ALWAYS REMEMBERED . . . NEVER FORGOTTEN. LOVE YOU SAMMY.

The letter and its message sent shivers down his spine. Good shivers. He remembered the day that started those, and similar, letters to appear in her mailbox with loving threats and twisted philosophies of the future.

_He felt himself starting to slip, to become not so fully enamored but curious. What would it be like to be in control? To have Samantha helpless, so pretty, and adorably confused? What would it feel like to take her and never give her back? Part of Nate wanted to ruin her, make her insufferably miserable, and then comfort her, take her pain away. _

_It was sick, definitely twisted. Well . . . it's what happened when he quit taking his medication. He didn't want to; he wanted to be normal for Sammy and not have to be the boyfriend that took needed medication. He was normal now! Nate wasn't nearly as nervous as most boys would be, trying to drug their girlfriends, some could speculate that this was his neurotic malfunction . . . to not be nervous. _

_Swishing the iced tea he walked back out to the pool area, setting it softly on the side. Sammy was laughing and kicking around, splashing and diving. He smiled at her, splashing back lightly before offering her the tea. Her lips were a light pale pink, so tender, stained satin, and he laughed while helping her out of the pool. They were due for watching the movie he'd rented. _

_During the movie he could feel the hand her tiny one latched on to, stroking the lightly tanned yet odd half-pale digit, relax as her grip slackened. It was almost done. Maybe he'd given himself away, moving in too soon, but Samantha had registered something through her dying mind and reacted. Crunched over on the bed he spat curses as she yanked a spare towel from the couch while her damp feet slid across linoleum to the front door, car keys taken from the grill on the patio. She was gone before he'd even staggered outside. _

* * *

For some reason she'd woken up again . . . like the first time. The only thing of difference a part from the roof and the first night at the lair was her tears. She was crying. Hot liquid trails mauled her face and Sammy found herself choking on sobs, trying to wake up and grope her way from the nightmare Nate's note and a Xanax pill had triggered. Leo was deep in meditation within the dojo, Raph had actually stopped, staring confused at the crying and accommodating sounds, leaving Donnie and Mikey to haul Samantha from her nightmare.

A few minutes later from being awakened Mikey presented her with a hot slice of leftover pizza from yesterday. "Hey there dudette, don't cry, you'll get extra salt on your pizza." he joked, Donnie shooting him a dirty look. Sammy laughed, despite herself. Mikey was nice. . . they all were in the small time she'd known them and Sam wasn't sure if it was from watching all the turtle-centered TV or if it was because she was actually talking to them, but, she found herself getting attached. Feeling homely, so to speak.

Again another talking session occurred, and, since they didn't know when or how Sammy would leave as much as she kept talking about "still sleeping", "Nate", "not real", and "dimensions" they decided to take her for their personalized tour of the town, like the one they gave Usagi and Gen. Of course, having watched the episode "Samurai Tourist" she knew what she was in for. Raphael showed her the baseball stadium, Donnie the subway, Mikey his comics, and Leo just watched all of it, not really showing her much of anything. When walking back, although hidden and in the safety of the turtles Sammy felt her neck hairs crawl like a marathon of running spiders. Only one person could do that to her.

There he was, the others hiding in the dark, it looked like she was just milling about in the slightly empty streets. His prey. Honey orbs burned like wildfire as he gave a slim smirk and wrapped his hand around her forearms. Chaffing steel. "I miss you." this added character on her psyche, in this world, sounded like Nate.

Time seemed to stop as the letter flashed in her mind, making her freeze, breath hitched like premature suffocation. They couldn't reach her. In her head she was sitting on Cindy's porch again, waiting on someone nice to help. Waiting for a safe feeling, and praying one of those cars passing by the road to her friend's house wouldn't be one with Nate in it.

* * *

"Hi Mrs. Kaskumo . . . I brought Sam her book." in the Kaskumo doorway, at half past noon that same day Mariah had opened the door to reveal a slightly shorter than average male with strawberry blonde hair, baby blue eyes, a nice beach tan, and a casual dress look to him.

"Oh?" her feminine voice peaked in forget-full ness (she figured she had met him somewhere but couldn't place him) and curiosity. What was he doing here?

"Oh, uh, sorry. Sam and I have Ecology together and she missed out on class yesterday so I figured I'd bring her book by. Teacher passed them out to us then, and there's a slip of paper with the homework on it inside." the formal textbook was passed off and the guy just patted his leg with a hand. He was nervous.

"Thank you, um. . ." the nervousness was getting to him. He had to leave. Something in his brain registered she was trying to figure him out as he was hastily walking away.

"Michael, call me Michael." he waved to her. Michael had seen Sammy briefly in the hallways at school, noticed her in his Ecology class, and talked to some friends about her. She wasn't the hottest chick on the earth, but still halfway-decent cute. She sure was a brain too, he scratched his head, and maybe he could get help on that Ecology work sometime.

* * *

Suddenly, like before, he vanished, the guys growling and dashing out at nothing. This impression of Nate, here, seemed to be like skyward smoke. Impossible to catch. But ever present, "Love you Sammy."

"What the shell?" Mikey asked, nunchucks batting him in the face as he gawked. Samantha just blindly felt around behind her, cuing her motions on his voice, to grab his hand. She must be insane. He couldn't be here, ordered to be two hundred feet at all times! The wind howled through the streets, passing stone buildings and glowing sections of light, whispering sinisterly,

_"Do you want to know what it feels like to be immortalized?"_


	4. Comatose

**Thank you **_Unverified, Unverified Babe, Still Unverified Babe, _**and**_ FantasyFan17_**for leaving me such kind reviews.**

**To **_Unverified: _**Seriously? o.O Wow. . . uh, good for you? And thank you?**

**To **_FantasyFan17 _**: yes the oddity is more my style. Creepy is a way of keeping the reader interested. I have no idea how long the story itself will go, probably about four more chapters. . .at least, if that (not quite sure yet). An alternate ending has been planned, I think I'll post them both when they're created and just have the reader pick which one he/she wants to and have it end that way. I may make a sequel story for Cindy but I don't think people really care about her, as nothing's been mentioned. We shall see. .**

**At least 2 votes to continue**

**Comatose**

She felt dizzy, wrapped in a blanket of stupor-inducing fog. "Get _off _me, Nate!" the screeching voice didn't sound like her own. Sammy was so confused, and couldn't really keep a grasp on things that maybe or really were happening. It was somewhat hard for the girl to tell the difference between her possible dreams and the real world. Today was Thursday and her stress was at an all-time high, her appointment with Dr. Schwartz getting her out of fifth and sixth period for the day.

Parking neatly and woozily beside a tree-green SUV she managed to look neatly composed as she took a shaky hand and grasped a nearby polished oak arm of a black-cushioned chair to seat herself in. What was happening to her? It was about twenty or thirty minutes until she got called into the familiar chair that seemed to swallow her, display the outer contour of her body in its putty like cushions, and chain her still for another session. "Your mother says you've been sleeping a lot." Dr. Schwartz in his usual calm tone peered over hand-written papers of Mariah's own concern and then gazed at Samantha over the fine line the edge of his clipboard made.

"The Xanax makes me sleepy." Sammy cursed at her tone. She sounded weak, scared, confused. Much like she felt, but she didn't want to give this certified enemy anymore reason to extend her stay any longer than he had to!

"I see, quite normal." Dr. Schwartz waved it off; Sammy felt herself relax like she was loosing herself, a pool of organs and skin, no longer upright with bones. Her eyes flickered and she heard Dr. Schwartz sigh, drawing her back in. Either she was hallucinating or Mikey was trying to hug her, asking her what happened. Dr. Schwartz was keeping her from answering, pestering her with questions. Suddenly, her phone rang, breaking a secondary wave of a drowsy trance.

It was her mother; the screen glowing an iridescent, obnoxious orange. He waved her out to answer it. "Baby doll, it's me. I just wanted to call and let you know the court date has been moved up to a week from now." her heart skipped a beat. A week from now? How, why?

* * *

Mariah drew shaky breathes from the other side of the line. "I know it's tough with your therapy and all but the judge just can't keep it suspended. We need to finish it. I'll talk more when I get home, love you, okay?" she couldn't even say bye. Dr. Schwartz took in her pallid face and assumed the worse, hissing in disguised disdain at his delicate remodeling of this broken human being halted, or worse, ruined. He wouldn't ask any more questions, her nerves looked shot. But she wasn't going into hysterics, why? Oh. . .in her hand, she was clutching it so tightly it was almost impossible to see the picture, but there was a DVD case: TMNT, Season Four.

"I'm going to call an emergency session tomorrow or Sunday, depending on how my schedule works out, okay? I want to do some brain analysis and stress level examinations to help further diagnose you." Dr, Schwartz patted her hand tenderly and watched her, as if in a daze, stumble out the door.

Michael was about to run over and say 'hey' to Samantha, having just dropped his aunt off to get her dose of needed therapy, when his legs weren't suddenly walking, but running. The silver Toyota had just been hit head on by a flaming red, speeding Cadillac. He knew that girl lying on the steering wheel. "Samantha. . ." no one went to help separate the cars, or tear doors open, off of the vehicles, and the person surely wasn't trying to fight their way out of it. "SAMANTHA!"

Dr, Schwartz jumped from his chair, along with a few receptionists to see what had happened. Michael Maston was dragging the body of a teen girl from the crunched driver's seat; Dr. Schwartz called an ambulance while the receptionists, Rose and Bianca, checked the other car. The owner of the Cadillac had run off. An ambulance arrived, impeded by traffic, forty minutes later.

* * *

"Dudette, what is _wrong _with you?" Mikey's green hands on Sammy's face seemed to be the only thing keeping her from hyperventilating. She contorted and wheezed, squealed and shivered only to clap her hand nervously along his icy green forearm, as if to see if she were still attached to reality.

"I saw. . .I saw, I saw. . ." Sammy couldn't make sentences. Did she really just get in a car crash? Was interacting with the TMNT her way of crossing over? How the hell was she even doing this? "I died." she felt like she was about to puke. "I must've, a Cadillac hit me coming out of Dr. Schwartz office."

"Slow down, talking all relaxed like. See? Watch me. . .breathe in, breathe out. Like a normal person c'mon, in, out." Mikey demonstrated and she batted him away.

"I'm not from here, look!" she thrust the plastic DVD case that she'd been carrying in the doctor's office into his face. True TMNT memorabilia from her world, whatever it was called here, in this animated one. They all stared, none of them saying a word. It seemed impossible, but it was staring them back in their faces. . .pictures of them, and synopsizes of what they'd done at various points of their life. Samantha felt her sanity unweaving, sobs wrenching her in murderous waves as the tears leaked out of her fragile, crazed body.

"I'm insane. . ." her fingernails dug lightly into her scalp, clutching sections of hair as she continued to cry. Mikey gave her a hug shortly after.

"How. . .?" Donnie couldn't even finished, too confused.

* * *

Nate's eyes narrowed, here in this city as he was manifested by Samantha's brain he could walk, talk, breathe, touch, taste, scream, and terrorize like any other person. He wasn't even sure how he'd come to have unique thoughts of his own, being in this dream as well, he could only figure they came from conspiracies of haunting Sammy. The group of them was on a northern roof, adjacent from the alley he'd disappeared from. It wasn't as easy to stalk her in a metropolis as he once thought; as he did not always have access to a computer nor knew who she hung out with, besides those weird green guys. Nate finished up his latest 'love' note and slid it into a nicely wrapped box with pink tissue paper jutting out of the white box like lace edges.

Although he didn't know where she was staying because this was Sammy's brain, Sammy's little adventure, his way would find her yet. For the upcoming morning he'd sent the original copy of the letter to her tangible house mailbox, to watch and spy again, also to incorporate a likeness in this world. If he controlled Sammy he could keep his half of the promise and get what he wanted. Nate could play many twisted games, for a long duration, however long he liked, so long as the prize was fair. A pair of binoculars met his eyes; watching a pale girl seeming to glow like a soft energy-saving light bulb that captured impossible illuminant brilliance, escape into New York's underground.

* * *

"Sammy, Samantha are you okay? Sammy say something!" Mariah's hot pink nails were ripping Michael's arm into shreds. Her daughter had just been admitted to the hospital for the wreck and she was hysterical. Michael looked heartbroken and the doctors taking charge of Samantha Kaskumo's well being were trying to shove the hysterics out of the room. Dr. Schwartz was conversing with fellow psychiatrist and psychologist Geena Gershawn as doctors Melinda Rosco and Kurt Easel bandaged and pulled flecks of glass from her body and administered medicine. The BPM machine was at first tense and high, the girl's body not yet reaching homeostasis, and five minutes later, she leveled out, in a perfect comatose from the impact.

* * *

The Shredder glared as this young fool dared respect the code of the Foot Ninja, the Shredder himself, showing up in normal street clothes and not his designated ninja outfit. His honey eyes glowered at the man in steel armor, more than willing and keenly negotiating. "This is simple," Nate started, flicking maroon hair out of his face, "I want Sammy, and you want the green guys dead. I can do it."

"You will kill the turtles, and then we will give you the girl when we get our hands on her." Nate smiled a coy smile. Sammy was a tricky one, and no doubt if these green guys were who Shredder exaggerating them to be, Sam would become even trickier with training.

"If," Nate corrected him. There was always an 'if' chance with Sammy. _If_ she got lucky. _If_ she escaped. _If_ she lived.

* * *

Michael felt really bad about trying to ignore Mrs. Kaskumo's hysterics in the room and he scratched the back of his foot with the other while finally selecting one. He brought the bouquet of perennials, baby's breath, lilies, roses, and carnations bundled in a lilac crinkling wrapper to the mother. "I left some room for you to sign." Michael whispered softly, as if Mrs. Kaskumo was made of porcelain and his words would damage her, and he pointed to the tag where he'd scrawled his name. She signed her own name, leaving a message of heartfelt courage on the back and soon gave them to Mrs. Rosco while she checked on them. "It'll be okay." Michael said aloud after she left, patting Mrs. Kaskumo on the shoulder.

Sometimes lies were good for sanity.

"He's an old boyfriend with a restraining order who won't leave me alone!" Samantha, after some of Leo's homemade tea, was finally out of this-world shock and talking again.

"As it seems," Splinter made himself apparent, making the girl jump, "you've come to us for a reason. Perhaps this boy is a demon of yours you must cleanse." Sam sat thoughtfully for minute, tapping her fingers on the delicate cup. That could be true. It made sense. "So we shall teach you how to get rid of him."


	5. A Turning Point

**Thank you **_FantasyFan17_

**To **_FantasyFan17_: **Thank you, doll, much appreciated. Very heartfelt comment and I simply adored it. I don't know how much longer the story itself will last but anyways, thank you for being a dedicated fan!**

**2 Votes to continue**

**A Turning Point.**

Michael didn't look too hot; he hadn't slept well since the crash two weeks ago. Time really flew when all you had to hold on to your sanity was a very still, paler-than-marble teen snugly fitted in a hospital reeking of narcotics and other medicines. He and Mrs. Kaskumo both were leaning on each other for support and, despite it all, Michael found himself smiling. Did Sammy know how long she'd been gone, or was she not thinking anything at all? Her hand was lax; his own tan one, so sick in contrast, crept under hers like a gifted Napoleonic siege proving successful.

What was it like to be in a coma? Could she hear him crying? Did she want to say it was okay and comfort him like she had before this all happened? Michael could only cross his fingers, hope, and chop the days off the calendar to pray that, the next day, she woke up. Mariah entered, dabbing a fresh Kleenex under her eyes and smiling weakly.

There wasn't much of them left. They were raw, nothing but emotions and the unraveled structure of what used to be people. Mariah, like every third Tuesday of the month, switched out the flowers and scrawled her's and Michael's name on the tag. If . . . no, when, Sammy woke up she would know they stayed with her. Affection still attached to the sleeping shell.

It was time for them to have the one-on-one talking session with Sammy, doctors and psychologists nearby, to see if anything improved in the EKG scans and gave her the ability to fight back and deny the grip of comatose. Michael was up first and he sat placidly, holding on to any fiber that would keep him stitched together before her. She was a great friend, and he couldn't bear to loose her. "Hey Samantha," his voice was already cracking and it was just the introduction. "Remember the time you finished soccer practice, it was almost the end of school our sophomore year, and I stole your cleats out of your bag?" Michael paused, waiting automatically for a human laugh, scowl, glare, or contact.

Lacerating his heart into shreds much like a paper shredder, Michael Maston continued on, regardless of the silent audience. "You tried your hardest to get them back and we were walking by the river side just before the entrance to Glenhaven, the one that becomes a ditch in summer? Well, you shoved me and the cleats were practically sinking in the water a few minutes later." he laughed, he couldn't help it. Michael wiped tears from his eyes. He could still remember the icy water, the fear of things that could be trying to snack on them, nibble, as they retrieved the sinking, or sunken, shoes individually; one per person. "You were so mad." now his tears were happy silver trails along his face.

With what was left of his sanity, leaving all the broken pieces of himself lying openly on the floor, some shed upon the bedside, he exited for the beginning of Mariah's retelling.

* * *

"Good, now see, dat's good. You didn't think you had it in you!" Raphael gave Sammy a light shove, a grin splitting his beak. He'd been assigned by Splinter to her personal trainer over the course of these four months she'd been cemented to her addiction of the lair. She wouldn't leave it; it was safe. Nate couldn't find her here, couldn't hurt her. True her four months of intense training couldn't even graze the surface of their coming-on-seventeen years of experience; Sammy now knew enough to defend herself.

Even if that meant defending herself against her demons. Especially Nate, Nate was definitely considered a demon. The worst one. Sammy had just gotten done with a six hour spar session, courtesy of Raph, allotted breaks for food, bathroom, and cooling down. She had done well enough to make the usually grumpy turtle smile.

Why?

**** FACT ****

**1. Raphael has come to see Sammy as a little sister**

**2. Raph adores protecting people, Sammy instills this.**

**3. He misses being Nightwatcher, it lets him relive those days.**

Sammy wiped her brow, having seen through the DVD experience that she could bring whatever she held onto back here with her. Some how, without her knowing it, clothes were being given to her. If she had to guess, hopefully wrong, she was probably still in the hospital's care. Nevertheless, it was appreciated. After her ceremonious shower and change she started her personal grooming and emerged to see Raph cooling down on the couch, channel surfing, Donnie was fixing something, Mikey playing what looked like a Nintendo DS modified for turtle fingers, and Leo could be heard tinkering in the kitchen.

Splinter was the only truly silent one. Mikey quit playing his game contraption and drilled rheum-filled, crystalline eyes into Samantha. He had the emotional sense, of sorts, the ultimate empathy. So, Sammy, witnessing his 'powers of annoyingness' first, hand followed the usually hyperactive turtle topside, into the warehouse. That was there secret spot.

She could say anything she wanted and he would listen. Samantha was grateful for that, and in turn she protected Mikey from Raph's wild basher moments. This place almost totally annihilated the memory, the presence, feel, of Nate. In fact. . . Mikey could be her anti-Nate solution, all of them could. Although she couldn't place a finger on why, how, or even explain it, Mikey was placed on top of the list; before the others. If it wasn't so, she wouldn't have kissed him.

**** FACT ****

**1. Mikey and Sammy have had a total of four kisses together.**

**2. Mikey started three of those.**

**3. The last one of those is coming up shortly.**

**4. Mikey loves it**

**5. Sammy loves it, too.**

"Thanks for listening, Mikey." his arm was wrapped around her and the turtle softly laid his green face on the top of her head. He couldn't help remembering the night he'd found her, maybe it was a sign. HE found her, HE kissed her . . . maybe HE would marry her. God how Mikey hoped. More than often, though, instead of hoping for marriage, he hoped she could get over whatever "tied her down to the other world".

An hour later they descended back to live amongst the others. It was time for the patrol run, and Mikey refused to leave Sammy alone by herself with Master Splinter. Why? He was prone to get bored, and Sammy could tolerate him much more than his brothers due to their relationship. In less than twenty minutes they had scaled and had an eagle-eye view from their preferred roost.

Nothing stirred. . . except for one boy.

* * *

Mariah smiled and dabbed her eyes again, going on her third Kleenex. "I remember when we went to court, Nate was furious, too much evidence against him to deny it." she cupped her daughter's cheek, the victory had been sweet but what sweet nectar was there to enjoy when no daughter was bouncing and smiling, shouting happily, at the results? None. Absolutely none.

Now only the memory of winning, Nate donning a blinding orange jumper with a bold number tattooed across it, was more like her favorite nightmare. It meant her daughter's horrors were stopped, but Mariah's own were starting, still alive, whenever she came into this room. "And I counted down the seconds in my head until the gavel came. Closer and closer, it echoed with this marvelous, room-shaking-"

* * *

_BANG! _Once Mikey and the others had gotten back from a brawl in an alleyway as soon as they could. Sometime during the fight, having left Sammy on the roof for safety, someone had taken her. And it wasn't in this warehouse. Mikey's heart sank as he looked at the empty contents, growing impatient and worried. "Sammy," he whispered to himself, wiping the light drizzle of rain running in between the crunched lines of worry in his face, "where are you?"

* * *

Nate grinned, lazily flipping a chair out in front of Sammy's own to sit in front of her. Observe her. She was like a rare animal, the last of her kind. One about to be extinct. But the last looks, sweet fleeting moments, could be pleasurable.

"Hey Sammy-mammy, how you doing?" true the borrowed wooden bat wasn't the most graceful thing to slow her down with, but it worked. He could see the swell of pain, a plush cushion of bloated purple, in her eyes. He laughed in spite of himself, his physical counterpart had been convicted guilty in the trial. . .but here, there was no conviction. No trial. Only him, winning, and the 'unfortunate event' of not being able to save the poor girl from the burning building.

The smell of gasoline filled her nostrils and Samantha wanted to cough, but the gag restricted her, cutting in to her lips and choking her sense of taste on disgusting fabric. Nate stood up and patted her face, laying a kiss on her cheek. "See," he started observing the slick floors, checking the spread and trails of the gasoline, smearing it in some places. He flicked a hand across the watery trails, smearing it on his fingers and walking back over to her. Sloshing the trails to dampen her pants legs, shaking and rubbing his own hands off on her arms, neck, and cheeks he dragged the chair to the front door where the gasoline pool all started.

"This is what happens when you put me in jail." the match was struck against the back of the book cover and descended rapidly, like a horrible, graceful firerfly without wings..

* * *

_Now _they had the right warehouse. Raphael released this blood-curdling howl of rage as he dove towards the male. Mikey went for the match. He caught it in his bare hand, flesh sizzling and eroding him but he was saving Sammy. That's all that mattered.

Save Sammy, Leo and Donnie were helping her out of the chair, trying to find something to wipe the gasoline off of her. Raphael, and even the kind-hearted Michelangelo, were beating the foolish human that had _dared _disrupt the disfunctionality, borderline-half-normality of their family. "WAIT!" Leonardo exclaimed, shoving the two brothers from the crippled one that had been the bane of Samantha's existence for a good period of time now. "She has to do it," Leo reminded them of a lecture Splinter had proven logical so long ago. "To keep from coming back she has to fight her demons. . ." his eyes narrowed at Nate, this pitiful lump of flesh half-cowering behind him, ". . .especially this one."

Mikey felt his heart rip it's last full strip in half. She couldn't! Sammy belonged here, with him. He loved her, and. . .and. . .she just had to. The brothers acted like they couldn't see Mikey walking down, breaking down, as he begged Sammy not to go.

There was a small exchange and Sammy spoke, "I can't do it in here. I don't think killing him would do any better. Raph can do it if he wants." she didn't want to stay in the gasoline any longer than she had to. It reminded her of what could have happened, that almost did. Raph grinned and cracked his knuckles. She stood in front of Nate, the bruised eye looking up at her and trying to stay shut, as if with shame. "You didn't win," she could feel anger, hatred, happiness, content, contempt, and many more things bubbling up inside of her.

She was _free_! "You lost and you're getting what you deserve! That's what you get! You creep, I hope you burn in hell and you know what? I'm _happy_!

"You don't affect me anymore!" her hands went to her hips, her mouth displaying everything she couldn't say to him in fear. "You're going to die and I'm going to laugh, laugh, laugh, laugh. You're just a sneaky, underhanded, lying, poser of a psycho who tried to put me down and it didn't work. Bye Naters!" She smiled, fulfilled, and walked out, hand-in-hand, with Mikey.

One warehouse burned down that night. No one knew how or why, and strangely, no ashes were found. Donnie smiled softly from the rooftop, watching policemen and firemen try to piece together the scene. "It's windy," he noted, extending a hand as if to cup the rushing air, "and they won't be able to tell body ashes from fire ashes." Sammy smiled as Mikey kissed her temple.

"Let's go home."


	6. Sweet Dreams?

**Thanks to **_Unlogged-in _**and **_iiEpic F A I L _**for reviewing the fourth and fifth chapters. After this, the story ends. Are you ready to say goodbye? An alternate ending will be supplied for those of you who wanted Sammy to stay with Mikey in the TMNT universe. The grand thanks goes to **_FantasyFan17 _**for being a constant supporter :]**

**Sweet Dreams?**

She felt her eyes flicker and the clean scent of cold air enter her nose. No more gasoline. . .wait, that's right; they'd escaped – the warehouse situation never happened. _Thanks guys, I owe you one, _Samantha thought with a smile as she finally opened her eyes. Splinter was right; Nate had been a demon, and now that he was gone the veil was lifted. Two worlds didn't exist, only one did.

"Well hey there! Glad to see you awake today, didn't think you'd forget." A tanned hand clasped her IV-seized right arm and the purple eyes scaled the appendage to see a smiling baby face with blond hair and an excited smile. Machines beeping all around her made Sammy confused. Was Mikey human? That was great! The man took the wooden chair next to her bed and gently placed the corsage in her trying to curl fingers.

Sammy was totally lost. Why in the world was she being handed a corsage? "Mikey?" her voice was hoarse and in the doorway she could see her mother crying and standing, squeezing the life out of Dr. Schwartz happily. "Yeah," her vision refocused on the human to her right and he placed his face in her line of vision due to her mild bed restriction. "You gave me that as a nickname, more or less. Scared me half to death, you know. ..." the blond shook his head and grinned, patting her hand as if to slam all the troubles in the ground. Dr. Schwartz had prophesized that she wouldn't know anything about it – patients who did this rarely ever did.

"You're human now. . ." the boy laughed, making her pale skin crinkle in a smile as the dark strands were brushed away from her face lovingly.

"Yep," Michael joked, "have been for the past seventeen years." The two ignored the dirty look of Mrs. Kaskumo (really aimed at Michael) and Sammy found herself laughing. True it wasn't the real Mikey she'd kissed but it would suffice. She was safe, but part of her didn't feel home.

"_-Didn't you know, dude? Green beats purple every time!" _Sammy jumped a little at the TV's entrance. TMNT was playing on the black television in her room – small gift baskets of this and that accenting the cartoon-ejecting box. Her eyes blinked as her brain filed all of this sensory information. Mariah smiled when she caught sight of her daughter staring zombie-like at the colorful cartoon. She giggled happily, patting her daughter's other hand as she seated herself to the left of her blessed child.

"Yep, your favorite little characters have been here with you the whole time." Mariah gently hugged her daughter and Sammy found the bed rising, Mariah controlling it as she finally found the ability to sit up. Granted it wasn't much, given the tubes running haywire through her skin and around her, but it would do. _What do you mean 'the whole time'? _Samantha pondered as she looked around. Didn't she die in that crash? Almost as if to read her mind, Michael produced the cast he'd been waiting to show her when she woke up; sawed in halves in order to remove it those months ago, the hunk of protection perfectly fit the arm she'd dislocated on impact with the steering wheel.

"What happened?" nurses now came into the room, taking out this and that and giving her more free reign as Michael scratched the back of his neck. How to explain that one? Dr. Schwartz smiled and rested a hand on the stumbling Michael's shoulder.

"You remember Nate, right?" he paused for her nod and then continued with his tale, "as most people do in a situation like that you developed a secondary personality. She's the one who told you about everything, she's why you slept so much and why the Xanax was so important to you." Briefly Samantha could remember flashes of going to see Dr. Schwartz, saying she felt angry, and having the feeling she was often wrapped in blankets. Confused. There was another personality?

From Psychology in her sophomore year she remembered the lecture, _"When the personalities switch they don't remember what the other one experienced. . .",_ and could only imagine that this other Sammy was the one who'd known about the court trial, crashing upon exiting (Samantha could only assume she was allowed to the end of that), and so much more. For example, why this Michael fellow had a corsage, and it had been put in her hand. What was up with that? "This other personality," Schwartz snapped her out of her thoughts, "kept telling your mother and I in the appointments and we wanted to get you help. You, as yourself, wouldn't let us-"

"-so Yinnesa took care of that for us. She made you crash, knowing you'd be okay since you hadn't left the parking lot." Mariah cut in and explained. Samantha's head was officially spinning as she looked at her mother. Yinnesa? Did she make that name up for the other personality or did it do that of its –her, seeing as how the personality shared her gender—own accord? Michael handed her a tiny plastic cup of water and gently held it to her lips as her throat unclenched with the sweet feeling of hydration.

"You've been in here ever since. Yinnesa's been the one going to the court dates and whatnot, but you, as yourself in the Samantha Kaskumo that we know, have been comatose since the car crash." Ice ran through her veins. Yinnesa had practically ran her life while she stayed in that weird dreaming sleep? So taking the Xanax so many times, the mailbox letters. . . all of that was Yinnesa keeping her updated while she recovered with the turtles? Creepy.

"Yinnesa did this so we could see if the medication they invented to treat people like you really worked. It had on so many others," Michael added, "and it was your turn. You deserved to be happy, too." He smiled at her and she couldn't help but grin. Even if he denied it, to her he was Mikey in the flesh. A pain ripped the beating organ in her chest to tiny little pieces. How were the guys? Was she there in spirit or was the world officially closed now?

"Oh? So she's awake?" Rose, Bianca, Geena Gershawn, Melinda Rosco, and Kurt Easel poked their heads into the room. Geena smiled softly at the cloudy look on the teen's face and Kurt laid the stethoscope on a nearby wheeled cart to shake Dr. Schwartz's hand in congratulations. These people in the tiny hospital room, all eight of them (thirteen if you count the turtles and Splinter on the television) helped what had come to be the biggest, twisted case of MPD the Intensive Care Unit of Schwartz and Gershawn Psychological Hospital had ever seen. Rose and Bianca laid more flowers around the TV, pre-preened and clapped happily as a hallway nurse brought them the celebratory tray the doctors had been planning since they'd seen the first increase in her condition. Michael blushingly gave what could technically be called the "Modern Sleeping Beauty" her first awake kiss in a full year, phone cameras, digital cameras going off with little noises. Mariah was already opening a box of tissues as she, Bianca, and Rose began to wipe their eyes.

"Okay," Dr. Schwartz held up his hand, "let's leave these two alone. They haven't spoken in a year." Michael smiled as they all cleared out to a room on the above floor where the party was going to be held all day. He gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

"So what happened to Nate after the trial?"

"I'm guessing Yinnesa didn't talk to you," he found it funny and kissed the corner of her mouth, feather light. She smiled up at him, as innocent as he could remember seeing her in that Ecology class first day of freshman year. True, he'd always been a background guy until he could figure out how to tell her, how she would feel after the whole Nate experience but it had worked out quite well. Albeit she had some missing memories but that was bound to happen, he would have fun retelling them. Michael could never forget the sweet and fiery spirit she encompassed, or the feeling of fear he got when he first met Mariah; both of them totally confused. "Electrocution." _Really? _She marveled at his response, _I wonder how that incorporates into what Raph and Mikey did to him. . . _

"You should've seen it!" Michael Maston exclaimed, clenching his fist in a sour-happy manner, "We got to throw all kinds of stuff at him before he went in the chair! I don't know how you would've felt; but I felt pretty damned good. Threw a couple of books and some weird mini-stand that I used to use for my Tang-Su-Do trophy!" Sammy grinned widely, making Michael copy her. _In the show Mikey had a Battle Nexus Trophy. . .maybe this isn't really the Mike I thought of but it's close. _

"What about his parents?"

"At first they were in denial, but they knew about his condition. They were the usual parent sort, happy to see their kid get what he deserved but sad to see him go."

She felt kind of sleepy but maybe –Sam reasoned—it was because she was back home, where she belonged. Questions paraded around her head, more incorporation curiosities. All the kisses with Mikey, it made her wonder. "Have we. . .you know, ever kissed?" Michael turned a dark beet red and looked elsewhere in the room. How to answer truthfully and not come off as weird? Or creepy?

"We have," he admitted with a nod and scratched the back of his head, "but I kinda. . . only kissed you while you were in comatose since we'd only been on one real half-date before Yinnesa made you crash and end up here."

"Really?" she didn't have that memory. Thanks Yinnesa, for blocking out all the good stuff. "Where to?"

"Pick up some pizza." Michael gave her his trademark lopsided smile. Sammy smiled. Maybe some things weren't imaginary, and maybe Yinnesa had let her see more than she meant to.

"How many times?" her and the turtle Mikey had only kissed four times. Her gut told her here it would be no different. Michael soon confirmed that. She grinned, finding the enthusiastic energy to sit upright and stretch. Everything was back to normal now, and little questions remained. Then she thought about the fire, feeling very scared and warm, sodden with gasoline at the memory. A machine to her left, her heart rate, soared and Michael's tanned hand over hers brought the number back down into the norm.

"There was couple a days before the trial when I guess you could really here us and understand what was going on. You got really sick. . .I guess it was from worry or stress, whatever it was it gave you a fever. Your mother and I thought it was scarlet; you were burning up so bad. That's the only time I think I've really been scared in my life." He tried to laugh it off, only half accomplishing it.

"We switched shifts and kept putting cold towels on you. Then you got better. . .fell straight into your regular state again, almost sleeping like a kid." Michael kissed her forehead as Mariah made herself apparent. She wanted her turn. Mariah, herself had stories to tell – after Mr. Kaskumo abandoned the both of them she'd found someone new that she knew Samantha could adore (hinty-hint-hint, it's someone that helped her get better), she had news about some of her school friends, what they were planning to do about the year she missed, and how to get some really cute photos of the couple. Oops, probably shouldn't chat about that – that was Michael's surprise for her! Michael and Mariah switched places as he walked up to the floor above to make them both plates.

For the next hour Samantha listened intently to the stories of her best friends getting married, engaged, members of the real family having kids or reaching milestones in their life, Mariah had gotten promoted quite a few times at her Law Studies business so Sammy was happy about that. Mariah rooted through the gift baskets, taking them one by one, saying who delivered them, what they said, and telling her the good stuff to use in them so that her senior year could really rock and blanket the memories of the past. All this time she thought about how distant she and her mother had become, how she couldn't be home too much, and in that thinking she found the more she thought about it. ..that much thinking showed how much she loved her. . .Sammy smiled at her mom and got the kiss on the top of her head she'd adored since she was a kid. Mariah giggled, making her daughter stare oddly as she blew kisses and walked out of the room (never had she remembered her mother giggling so much in one day) before Michael reentered the room. Definitely cute, this guy was a saint (forever dubbed so) since he was bringing her the first plate of real-live food since she'd waken up today.

Never had anything smelled sweeter. Except, maybe, the musk of his. Probably an Axe product but paired with the food Sammy was beginning to think she really _had _died and gone to Heaven. Michael sat at her side again, smiling and keeping the fingers closed around the corsage. She hadn't regained total coordination back in her body yet. Sammy's mauve eyes drank in the colors; suddenly finding herself craving an espresso as she imagined (oddly enough, never a caffeine person) hold the coffee while his tanned hand was the coffee and her pale one was the cream blended in.

"Why do I have a corsage?" she asked him curiously. Michael smiled. He loved her little kid moments like this.

"It's our one year anniversary." His smile melted into a tiny grin and he kissed her, feather soft, on the stained satin lips that had been teasing him for a year.

.


	7. Alternate Ending: Memoirs for Mikey

**Thanks to **_FantasyFan17 _**love ya girl, be sure to keep your eyes peeled!**

**_ALTERNATE ENDING_**

**Playlist: R**ob **T**homas - **L**ittle **W**onders

**P**lain **W**hite **T**'s - **1**, **2**, **3**, **4**

**

* * *

  
**

**Memoirs for Mikey**

Six months clean and in a good relationship with the human Michael Maston, Samantha still found herself glancing zombie-like at her beloved cartoon. To anyone else except Remington, Dr. Schwartz's pride and joy from his newly dubbed 'first marriage', it was just a silly little cartoon the eighteen year old (now eighteen) had outgrown. She felt very much like Wendy after returning home to her parents from Neverland. It was just that magical and twisted; yet, she felt as though –just watching silly little episodes she cherished—Mikey was different. Maybe she really was Yinnesa; they weren't separate like everyone thought they were.

"Yinnesa," she giggled at the cleverly constructed anagram, it meant 'Insaney' in reference to Samantha's own state of being. She had a smart other personality, that was for sure. The girl liked to show her face a bit more now; past damages no longer pulling the strings on her curtains of dark hair –time being a big hair tie to put it all up, behind her—and instead bringing to light the softness of her cheeks, the healthy glow, and her rosy colored apples on the skin of her body. Michael was the best thing to have ever happened to her. Still, Sammy pondered what happened through the turtles as she enjoyed her life, what was left of her with them? How were they taking it?

Did they even remember her? Of course they did, they had to. Especially Mikey, after all. . .the sunlight poured through the panes of her bedroom window and caressed her skin. For a reptile with icy skin his touch made her warm. His youth, the happy spark, was an unexplainable warmth entirely, no candle, no arms, could replace.

Briefly wearing a frown she looked back at the Xanax bottle. Yinnesa wasn't ready to leave her yet; she'd stopped her from making the biggest mistake in the history of all possible ones. The last pill waited quietly in the bottle, yellow and as big as a fingertip Samantha Kaskumo—soon to be Samantha Maston—couldn't let this hang in the air, not anymore. Once upon a time, she remembered Splinter telling her to cleanse herself of a demon, that they would teach her how. Today she found that impossible – they would call her insane—but she could never forget Mikey, or Leo, Donatello, Raph, even Splinter. She knew what she had to do, and it would heal them all.

Granted her healing had proceeded emotionally she was stable there, but emotionally, memory-wise, she wasn't. Too much of her was still with the guys. Time was a sick mistress, the mind even worse, but today all those wrongs could sleep soundly. These shadows suspended on her walls, evidence of her graduation back into normality, of Yinnesa's recognition, wouldn't exist after the hour. _Please give me the strength not to crumble. . .not to stay, _Samantha prayed as Mariah understood her final act of closure (thinking she was boxing up Yinnesa's items) and watched her daughter softly shut the door while Remington slept soundly, unaware of his new big sister's final pilgrimage.

Since her dual personality's existence and her venture in throughout the spiral of mentality in the hospital she came to realize that maybe Yinnesa, in all of God's and Sammy's own scary wisdom, had planned for this to be done. The clear tones, hues, separating Yinnesa's objects from hers made her tremble in an ethereal manner as she boxed them up. It was already being played out in the teen's head –Yinnesa's clothes, essentials, went in to the box, her favorite items, DVD's of the guys, perfumes and whatnot—and nothing would ever come back. Her heart was breaking but Sammy couldn't live with not knowing. She clasped the box while putting the neon pink iPod in her pocket, headphones in, as she washed down the last Xanax, and lobbed it in the trashcan.

A thought occurred to her and she turned back. It was wrong to throw away the thing that had made their meeting so. Plus it still had uses. She wanted to be there with them, in spirit, at least, and give Mikey solace (ease her mind) but not to be so much like his Samantha that it hurt him. She picked at the front section of hair before her, one of the many blond highlights she'd gotten to signify her change, and put the handful of strands in the vial, adding the ones from Yinnesa's hairbrush and laying on her back as the sleep abducted her.

* * *

Tapping keys caught her attention; it was pretty quiet save for the clacking noise. She bounced a finger on Donatello's shoulder, making him whip around where she laid a finger to his lips. Apparently, it was only the two of them in the lair, Splinter had sent the others on a topside training run (_did he know?_ Sammy wondered curiously). Sammy summarized the whole story and tried not to blush of embarrassment as Donatello's grin grew wider. The two exchanged stories, Mikey's half hearted regression into solemnity scared her, broke her heart, and then Sammy set the box of stuff near his work station, presenting the vial of hair. "Make another me," Sammy smiled, curling his three olive fingers around the orange medicine bottle, "make a me for him. I don't need his heartbreak on my conscience."

Donatello looked at the birth certificate the hospital had made for Yinnesa. He grinned, saluting her. Sammy hung out with Master Splinter, waiting for Leonardo and Raphael to return at Splinter's request and say goodbye before the pill wore off. Mariah and Dr. Schwartz figured out that the pills lasted for 'x' amount of time depending on certain hormones being released in the body. Now that she was with Michael those sparse hormones that once prolonged the effect of the Xanax had more than doubled. Xanax did little for her now.

In slight disbelief Raphael and Leonardo quickly made it back to the home, a mere ten minutes time, and giving testimony to their honed skills. "I don' believe it!" Raphael gave the new Sammy a cheeky grin and gave her an open-armed hug. "So that 'defeatin' the demon' thing really worked, huh?"

"Yep!" Samantha smiled brightly and put her hands on her hips. Her confident gaze crumbled and she felt herself descending into the old arms of comfort found here. But she couldn't stay; it was so hard to remember that. So easy to forget the life she had waiting on her—she could never forget Michael thought, or Remmy. "You want the details; go ask Donatello, I gotta jet, okay? Bye guys. Don't tell Mikey I was here." She waved at them, hugged Leonardo, hugged Splinter, and Donatello.

Their gazes stopped her. She gave off a very luminous Sammy grin they'd only seen a few times. "You'll see once he gets his present!" Sammy promised, feeling herself start to wake up. Quickly she handed the iPod to Donatello. "Play this one when he comes in, like, lay her somewhere it takes a while to find her," she showed him the chosen song scrolled over in blue, pressing the gadget into his hands. "Spray her with this perfume," she took her favorite perfume out of the box, "then play this one when she wakes up." Donatello was already adding the proper body calculations in there to make her have the frame of Sammy, some of the looks.

"Wait!" he exclaimed, "She doesn't have a name!" Samantha couldn't help but giggle at Donnie's exasperated, frazzled look and Leo's and Raph's twin confusion glances. She grinned, keeping tears at bay. The birth certificate saying 'Yinnesa Kaskumo' was gingerly slid across the work desk's polished and cluttered surface.

"She's had one. We just had to find it. Bye guys. . .I'll never forget you." The girl disappeared and left the brothers in a quiet, tingly silence. Donatello felt a cold but warm chill settle in his stomach, wrapped like a bow, as he wiped sweat from his brow and finished up. Mikey would be back within the next two hours. He threw clothes from the box in the machine, knowing they would work as clothes should, and waited until the door of his contraption opened itself. Normally he used this strictly to incubate the body pads with regenerative properties, _usually, _but this was a special case. Thirty minutes later Donatello, Splinter, Leonardo, and Raphael were plotting a place to lay the sleeping body of the blond-haired, dark-eyed Yinnesa. Finally they found a place he would never look, but the music would attract him into Raphael's room, starting low and crescendo-ing like his curiosity would.

* * *

The orange-bandana wearing turtle, the youngest brother, felt the curiosity of the hidden music clawing at his curiosity. Where was it? WHY COULDN'T HE FIND IT? He was going insane, but it was clearly heard, wherever it was.

_Let it go/ Let it roll right off your shoulders/ Don't you know? / The hardest part is over/ Let it in/ Let your clarity define you in the end/ We will only just remember how it feels._

_Our lives are made in these small hours, these little wonders/ These twists and turns of fate/ Time falls away but these small hours/ These small hours still remain/ Well let it slide/ Let your troubles fall behind you._

_Let it shine 'til you feel it all around you/ And I don't mind if it's me you need to turn to we'll get by/ It's the heart that really matters in the end._

_

* * *

  
_

Michelangelo wasn't crazy! Rob Thomas' "Little Wonders"was playing somewhere in their underground household. He didn't like pranks to be played on him; _he _liked to play the pranks around here! Locating Raphael's room as the source (definitely the last place the scared-of-his-older-brother-pummeling-him turtle would have looked) he pushed the door open; the cue for Donatello to switch the song via the tiny iPod's iHome remote. The Plain White T's "1, 2, 3, 4" began to play as Michelangelo gazed at the blond sleeping almost enchantedly on Raphael's bed.

"Sammy?" he whispered cautiously, as if the woman dead asleep were the biggest booby trap he'd ever set eyes on. She wasn't totally Sammy; some things looked like Sammy, like the shape of her face, and the slightly tanner tone of the pressed-but-pointed nose and ending-at-a-soft-point chin. Other things, like the egg-yolk-yellow hair and touch-darker eyebrows didn't. The lips looked the same. . . her eyes fluttered and Mikey quickly backed up. No scream?

"Her name is Yinnesa." Raphael leaned against his room's doorway casually. He probably should had left the next part out but he couldn't help –probably like Sammy, he figured—living with the thought that Mikey would never know what happened just hours ago. "Samantha left her for you. Long story, boring story. Don will tell you though." Mikey's attention rolled back to the blond rubbing sleep out of her dark—possibly blue or brown—eyes.

* * *

_Give me more loving than I've ever had/Make it all better when I'm feeling sad/ Tell me that I'm special even when I know I'm not./_

_

* * *

  
_

He lost track of the popular song's lyrics as the two stared. Who was she? How could Sammy 'leave her here'? Mikey didn't really want to know why, or what she was thinking, how she could, but he knew Sammy, his Sammy, would never try to hurt him. So, he convinced himself, Yinnesa was good. Donatello would have to confirm that by the word of mouth but he was kind of "the lights are on but no one's home" at the moment.

She was gorgeous. Sammy wanted him to be happy, for this girl to be happy, and he felt warmth explode in him, he was. Gingerly, he sat next to her; she smiled at him and laid her pale, lanky fingers over his three green ones. "I'm Sammy's personality created by her Nate experiences. I've seen her interact with you, make memories with the four of you. I want to, as well," Yinnesa leaned closer with the smile Mikey adored, the one that made him melt like butter, "with you especially." Yinnesa kissed like Sammy, and smelled like her. Mikey found himself wrapping his arms around this Yinnesa character and welcoming her home, to his home . . . their home.

* * *

_There's only one thing to do/ Three words for you/ I love you/ There's only one way to say those three words/ And that's what I'll do/ I love you (I love you)/ Give me more loving from the very start, piece me back together when I fall apart/ _

_/Tell me things you'd never even tell your closest friends/ Make it feel good when I hurt so bad/ Best that I've had, I'm so glad I've found you/ I love being around you/ You make it easy/ It's easy as 1, 2, / 1, 2, 3, 4!/_

_

* * *

  
_

Donatello groaned and smacked a hand to his green forehead. Maybe he shouldn't have told Mikey that Yinnesa was an anagram for 'Insaney'. Splinter was all too happy that Mikey regained his normal hyper appearance. Raphael, after getting one of his four large green toes getting run over by a careening swivel chair on wheels, was not. Leo just smirked at his older brother, smart enough to stand back by Donnie's work desk with his second youngest brother and watch Mikey's exuberance from a safe distant that disconnected him from Mikey's homemade racetrack.

No wonder why Mikey and Yinnesa fit well together. She was the piece of Sammy he could best understand. Music continued to pour from the iHome, having re-run the playlist and rerouted back to Rob Thomas' "Little Wonders".

_Our lives are made in these small hours, these little wonders/ These twists and turns of fate/ Time falls away/ But these small hours, these small hours, still remain/All of my regret will wash away somehow/ But I cannot forget the way I feel right now/ _


End file.
